


Gauze

by Ooft



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Episode: s01e08 Fromage, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Slash, inspired by instagram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27366355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooft/pseuds/Ooft
Summary: “I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world,” Will murmurs as he grabs a gauze from the med-kit that one of the paramedics left sitting on the desk.Will leans forward and presses the gauze to Hannibal’s forehead, wiping away what Hannibal assumes is blood. It feels soothing and cool against his skin, but he’s focused more on the pressure of Will’s fingers, rubbing his face in a way more delightful than anything Hannibal has ever experienced.“I got here on my own, but I appreciate the company,” Hannibal says, smiling up at Will.Inspired by an Instagram post and an unseen part of the original script.
Relationships: Jack Crawford & Hannibal Lecter, Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 154





	Gauze

Sitting at his desk, Hannibal stares at the dead body of Tobias Budge, contemplating his next course of action. A timer on his tablet is set for five minutes and thirty-six seconds, the time he estimates the average person would need to recuperate themselves after an event such as this. 

Beethoven drifts from the tablet and Hannibal switches off the alarm, taking a deep breath through his nose as he dials the number of Jack Crawford's personal phone. Calling the office or the FBI directly poses the risk of being discovered, something Hannibal can't afford. There's still much work to be done with Will Graham, after all. It seems unlikely he would have died at the hands of Tobias. 

"Doctor Lecter?" Jack's voice echoes through the speaker. 

"Jack, I didn't know who else to call," Hannibal says, making sure his voice is appropriately distressed, "but I've been attacked in my office. I fear- Well, Jack, I've killed a man." 

"What happened, Doctor Lecter? Talk me through it." There's background noise coming from Jack's end of the phone, the sound of a car door being slammed shut and keys being jangled. 

Hannibal tells Jack about Tobias' murder of Franklyn Froideveaux, the fear he felt when Tobias turned on him, the way they fought until the accident with the stag statue. 

"I'm sending a team to your office, Doctor Lecter," Jack says. "Please stay calm until they arrive. I'll have to get off the line now, but ring me if you need me again." 

"Thank you, Jack," Hannibal croaks out. 

Hanging up the phone, Hannibal leans back in his chair and sighs, crossing his hands on the desk. In a few minutes, cars pull up outside. Hannibal adjusts his positioning, hunching over and closing in on himself, mimicking the signs of a shocked victim. 

Forensics and investigators barge into the room, checking for danger and assessing the bodies on the ground. A couple paramedics come to Hannibal, check him for major injuries (stopping to bandage his arm) then wrap him up in a blanket and place a glass of water on his desk, patting his back and murmuring reassures before they bustle off. He makes sure his hands tremor as he drinks. 

A familiar face enters the room and Hannibal finds himself surprisingly relieved at the sight of Will, alive and well, his arm bandaged the same way Hannibal’s is. He had sent Will into the lion’s den and Will, now a champion, has emerged victorious from the battlefield. 

“Mr Budge said he was questioned by the FBI and he murdered two men,” Hannibal says, watching as Will drifts closer to him, ensuring they make eye contact as he continues, “I was worried you were dead.” 

A wry smile twitches at the corner of Will’s mouth, lopsided and almost involuntary as Will lifts up his injured arm. “You had reason to worry.” A falsity, but Hannibal lets it slide. In time, the beast inside Will will have its way and will commit to the hunt. Until then, Hannibal is more than content to wait. 

Their quiet, intimate eye contact is broken by Jack, who steps between the two, solemn and disgusted at the sight of the dead bodies on Hannibal’s floor. 

“Tobias Budge kills two Baltimore Police Officers, nearly kills an FBI Special Agent, and after all that his first stop is your office,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Hannibal. The unspoken question of his gaze sucks the heat from the air. 

“He came to kill my patient,” Hannibal lies. 

Jack doesn’t look convinced, so Will steps forward slightly, placing himself back into Jack’s focus. “Hannibal’s patient told him he suspected a friend was involved with the murder at the symphony. Hannibal told me and I investigated. I got him involved.” Will pauses, his gaze shifting away from Hannibal and Jack as he thinks, before he turns back to Hannibal. “Your patient. Is that who Tobias Budge was serenading?” 

Hannibal fights back the urge to laugh at the thought of Tobias serenading Franklyn, making sure to keep his eyes downturned and sad. “I don’t know.” 

Will nods at that, looking away from Hannibal and Jack as he returns to the depths of his mind. 

“Franklyn knew more than he was telling me, I believe,” Hannibal tells Jack. “When they were here with me, Franklyn told Mr. Budge he didn’t have to kill anymore. Then he broke Franklyn’s neck. Then he attacked me.” The last sentence, he delivers in a shaky voice. 

Jack is unmoved by the performance. “And you killed him.” 

Hannibal eyes Franklyn’s body bag mournfully as it is carried away, biting the inside of his cheek. He makes it seem as if he can’t bring himself to look at Jack when he answers. “Yes. It felt as though there was no other option.” 

“Could your patient’ve been involved with any of what Budge was doing?” Will asks, breaking into the conversation before Jack can ask anything else. 

“I thought this was a simple matter of poor choice in friends.” It’s partly the truth, anyway. 

Jack eyes him for a second. Sighing, he turns his attention to the sight of Tobias and Franklyn being wheeled away in their body bags, frowning. “This doesn’t feel simple,” he says, voice firm with conviction. His large frame is misleading enough to make Hannibal sometimes forget just how clever he can be. 

Hands behind his back, Jack wanders off to survey the rest of the crime scene. Will steps forward to take his place, cautious and slow as he moves and sits against Hannibal’s desk. If it wasn’t such an intimate position, Hannibal would have been annoyed. For now, he soaks up the warmth of Will’s presence, so close he can almost touch it, though shouldn’t, as the action would scare Will off. 

“I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world,” Will murmurs as he grabs a gauze from the med-kit that one of the paramedics left sitting on the desk. 

Will leans forward and presses the gauze to Hannibal’s forehead, wiping away what Hannibal assumes is blood. It feels soothing and cool against his skin, but he’s focused more on the pressure of Will’s fingers, rubbing his face in a way more delightful than anything Hannibal has ever experienced. 

“I got here on my own, but I appreciate the company,” Hannibal says, smiling up at Will. 

Lips drawn, Will is serious when he speaks, looking Hannibal dead in the eyes. “I’m really sorry, Hannibal.” His name sounds wonderful falling from Will’s lips. Such a sweet, oblivious thing this little lamb is when it comes to the monsters lurking around him. He doesn’t know that he knows Hannibal’s secret yet. 

Hannibal wonders how much longer he’ll take. 

“You’ve no need to apologise, Will,” Hannibal says. “If I didn’t want to be involved, I wouldn’t have accepted Jack’s offer to help you in the first place.” 

“You didn’t know what you were getting into,” Will’s voice is quiet again, a hum as he focuses on rubbing the blood from Hannibal’s temple, one hand wiping while the other ghosts Hannibal’s cheekbone. “I didn’t either.” 

“You don’t give your intelligence enough credit,” Hannibal teases. Speaking in serious terms will make Will uncomfortable and it seems as though they’re getting somewhere. 

Will scoffs a laugh. “That’s because I don’t want it.” 

“You’d prefer to be living on the coast, fixing boat motors for the rest of your life?” Hannibal asks. 

“The sound of the ocean, music to my ears,” Will whispers to himself. A secret, now shared between two. 

“It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Hannibal muses. “To fall asleep to the same, repetitive noise each night. To have such comfort and routine provided by the world around you, rather than relying only on other people.” 

“I s'pose so,” Will says, moving from Hannibal’s temple to wipe his cheek, one hand now gently cupping Hannibal’s chin. 

Will wipes Hannibal's jaw, makes eye contact and blinks a few times in shock, realising just how close he is to Hannibal. Movements jerky, he pulls away and sets the gauze back on the desk, leaning back slightly and staring up at the ceiling, his neck open and exposed. He takes a nervous gulp, Adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat as he does so. A shiver runs up Hannibal’s spine at the sight, enamoured by it’s erotic nature, the way the tissue glides with such ease. 

“Doctor Lecter, if you’re up to it, could I take a report on what happened?” An investigator asks. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Hannibal says, feigning flustered hands. 

Will takes that as his cue to leave, nodding to Hannibal and easing himself down from the desk. He saunters over to look at a patch of Tobias’ blood on the floor, kneeling down beside it and staring, eyes critical of its shape and depth. 

Almost the entire time the investigator is asking questions, Hannibal watches Will. As agents bustle around him, he finds things to do, perusing Hannibal’s bookshelves and looking at the decor around the room. He’s still hovering an hour later, even after the questioning is over and the crime scene is long since photographed and cleaned up, everything whisked away as though it never happened. 

The last investigator leaves. Now it’s only Hannibal and Will in the office, Hannibal sitting at his desk while Will stands by one of the windows and gazes out. 

“Something on your mind, Will?” Hannibal asks, approaching Will from diagonally behind, letting himself be seen in Will's peripheral. 

Will turns to see him better, but doesn't make eye contact, favouring the sight of the floor instead. “I thought there was something on  _ yours,  _ actually.” 

“An interesting observation,” Hannibal says. “And how did you come to that conclusion?” 

“You just looked lost, when I first came in,” Will says, “like you had no one in the room who you considered a friend. You seemed a little better after we spoke, so I thought I’d hang around. In case you wanted to talk, or something. I don't know.” 

“I appreciate your concern,” Hannibal says. It’s humbling to have this strange man take such an interest in him. He finds himself wanting to return the favour more and more as each day passes. 

Will smiles. “You’re growing on me, Doctor Lecter.” 

“Even if you don’t like me psycho-analysing you?” Hannibal asks. “You seemed quite opposed to the idea of any form of relationship between us when we first met for that very reason, if I recall correctly.” 

“I don’t think there’s a single person I meet who doesn’t psycho-analyse me,” Will says. 

“Even Alana Bloom?” Hannibal asks. 

Will chuckles. “Especially Alana Bloom. She avoids me and before a few weeks ago, never let us be alone in a room together. That means she’s either scared of me - which I know she isn’t - or she’s scared of herself and her analysis of me.” 

“Why would she be fearful of you?” Hannibal asks. “Is there something _ to _ fear?” 

“I’m unstable,” Will says. He leaves it at that. 

They stand by the window a while longer, neither saying a word. Will has a warm presence in the room, heat radiating and sparking from his skin in a delightful way, strong enough to distract from the atrocious aftershave he insists on wearing each day. His warmth almost convinces Hannibal to let his guard down. 

Will is thinking. He's always thinking, of course he is, but Hannibal can imagine the neurons in his brain fizzing away with each thought, electricity thrumming through. Hannibal wonders what Will's brain looks like, wonders if he would be able to see Will's memories and muses if he cracked that lovely skull open to peer inside, wonders if he would find himself in there. Perhaps one day, Will may let him go deep enough to find the beast and bring it forth. Never has a thought pleased Hannibal so much. 

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Hannibal asks. 

"Oh, I didn't mean to stay this long," Will says, startling from his thoughts and blinking at the dark sky in the window. If anyone else said something as rude as that, Hannibal would have written them up for next week's dinner plans, but he knows that Will was being truthful, not insulting. 

"Well, I would love to have you for dinner," Hannibal says, internally smirking at his little joke. Will would make a tasty meal, indeed. 

Will clears his throat and nods. "I can't imagine I'll be very good company, but if you insist." 

"Oh, I do," Hannibal says, smiling at him and gesturing for him to walk ahead. 

Will skirts around Hannibal and leaves the office, waiting for Hannibal at the front door. Hannibal thanks him when he steps through, gesturing for Will to wait for him as he locks the door. 

"I don't have my car at the moment," Will says, "I got picked up by Jack this morning." 

"Ride with me, then," Hannibal says, unlocking his car and sliding into the driver's seat. 

Will climbs in beside him in the passenger side. 

“Your car’s nice,” Will says after a few minutes of silence. Whether he’s being polite or awkward, Hannibal can’t tell yet. 

“Thank you,” he responds. 

Will must have been feeling awkward, because he plunges on. “If you ever have any problems with the engine, I’ be happy to take a look and see if I can fix it. My dad taught me about car mechanics, too. When you pick up one bit of handiwork, the rest comes pretty easy, you know? Like athletes being good at most sports, even ones that are wildly different.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hannibal says, then: “Did you play any sport as a boy?” 

“I was in a few school baseball teams,” Will says, “but I gave up on that when I moved to my fifth school. It wasn’t really worth it, if I was just gonna leave midway through the season. Did you play anything?” 

“I played several sports as a boy: lacrosse, football, rugby. Even a little ice hockey, at one point. I much preferred my books, however,” Hannibal says. 

“I was the same. I remember reading the entirety of Sherlock Holmes in a day, once,” Will says, laughing at himself. 

Hannibal smiles, able to picture a young Will, lounging on a couch and reading a book. “Did you hate reading it as much as Arthur Conan Doyle hated writing?” 

“I wouldn’t say I hated or liked it,” Will says, “I just found it interesting.” 

Hannibal nods. Will has such a niche way of speaking, so unique to himself that the average man would find great difficulty in trying to understand him. Some would question the difference between ‘interesting’ and ‘likeable’, but Hannibal understands what Will is trying to say, even going as far as to admire his phrasing. How a poor, Southern boy could have such a specific speech pattern, Hannibal doesn’t know. To discover its source would be an intriguing pursuit. 

“I know you’re psycho-analysing that,” Will says, giving Hannibal a look from the side of his eye. 

Hannibal chuckles. “My apologies. I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Jack gave you a job,” Will shrugs, “I haven’t been making it easy. If I were you, I’d be getting the jump on me whenever I had the chance, too.” 

“Still,” Hannibal says, “I’ll try my best to not analyse you.” 

Will smiles at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you.” 

The rest of the drive is spent in an almost comfortable silence. 

\---

After a dinner of boeuf bourguignon and a dessert of cherry clafoutis (they spoke of Will’s investigations, after Hannibal reassured Will it was fine for him to talk about), Hannibal and Will sit in the living room by the fireplace, glasses of whiskey in hand. 

Will is relaxed, lips and cheeks red, an easy smile playing at his lips. Any question Hannibal asks him, he answers like he would when he’s sober, somehow in control of himself through his drunken haze. He’s much cleverer than Hannibal has given him credit for. There is intelligence in the world, but Will is something else, something  _ other.  _ His intellect is made up of so many different facets it must confuse him, some parts of him empathising with others, while other parts of him are emotionally hardened from his painful childhood. 

“Jack doesn’t understand me,” Will says, “he doesn’t get the way I think. If it wasn’t so frustrating to explain things all the time, I’d be grateful for it. He’d be the only person not constantly analysing me.” 

“Do you have any friends, Will?” Hannibal asks. It’s a stupid question; he supposes the alcohol must have affected him more profoundly than it has affected Will. 

Will chuckles. “Do my dogs count?” 

“Canines make excellent companions,” Hannibal says. “They are bred for it, after all. But no, I wouldn’t consider them as ‘friends’.” 

“Then no, I don’t have any friends,” Will says. 

“Would you ever consider the opportunity of friendship?” Hannibal asks. 

“Yes,” Will says, downing the rest of his glass of whiskey. Looking around the room, he frowns. “What time is it?” 

Hannibal checks his watch, squinting at the numbers. “Quarter to eleven.” 

“I should go,” Will says, standing and setting his glass down on the coffee table between the two armchairs with trembling fingers. 

“You can stay the night, if you like,” Hannibal offers, against his better judgement. He thinks that perhaps he may be getting a little too desperate for Will to discover his secret. He’ll have to remember to drink less, if Will comes for dinner again. 

Will shakes his head. “No, no, I’ll go home, Thank you though, for dinner and having me and everything. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” Hannibal says, “you’re always welcome in my home. And my office, come to think of it.” 

“Thank you,” Will says, stumbling along to Hannibal’s front door and contacting a taxi driver through his cell phone. “Oh, and Hannibal?” Will stops just outside the front door, gazing at Hannibal. 

“Yes, Will?” Hannibal asks. 

“I appreciate your company, through this whole mess,” Will says. With that, he walks away, leaving Hannibal to stand in stunned silence as he disappears down the street. 

Hannibal realises there is  _ much  _ more work to be done with Will Graham, now that they are on the path of friendship. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal is a lying, manipulative bitch and I love (fucking hate) him.


End file.
